


Distractions

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Locker Room, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Abe didn’t stay behind so he could take advantage of the momentary privacy to kiss his boyfriend senseless, so he keeps his hands up and tries to keep his eyes on Mihashi’s face instead of his bare skin, for what little help that offers." Abe and Mihashi get distracted by different things, and then by each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

“Abe-kun.”

Abe blinks. He has the laces of his shoe draped over his fingers, though his grip is going loose and one falls to the ground even as he gets his vision back in focus. When he looks up Coach is standing in front of him with her hands on her hips and the setting sun haloing around her hair.

“You’ve been at that for five minutes,” she says, nodding at his shoe. When Abe looks back down his laces are only half undone, though she’s right, he can remember sitting down to change out of his uniform minutes ago. And then he started thinking about the strategy he’s working out for their upcoming game, and then he started thinking about Mihashi’s wrists, and then veered back around to the strategy, and…

He keeps his head down to hide his self-conscious flush as the coach goes on speaking. “There’s no hurry, I just wanted to let you know Shiga-san and I are going to be heading out. And I didn’t see Mihashi leave; I think he might still be changing, but he gets…”

“Stalled,” Abe finishes for her, pulling his shoe off with enough force to indicate that  _he_  definitely  _never_  gets distracted in the middle of changing back after practice. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thanks, Abe-kun,” Momoe says, as if he’s doing her a favor and not angling for the few minutes of solitude he’ll get by walking Mihashi home. “Good work today. We’ll see you tomorrow!”

She’s moving away before Abe has more than lifted a hand in farewell. He watches her and Shiga until they’ve stepped past the fence and faded into the darkening shadows of the evening; then he works his other shoe free, leaves them by the bench, and goes in to fetch Mihashi.

The other boy is right around the corner, right where Abe expected him to be. He made it farther than Abe did, if not by much -- his uniform shirt is off, clutched in his hands, and he’s staring down at it like he’s never seen the striped cloth before. It’s dim in the space but Mihashi’s hair is pale enough to catch the light until it seems to glow faintly; even his too-thin shoulders are pale enough that Abe can clearly make out the outline of the other boy’s body in spite of the poor illumination.

He’s not trying to startle Mihashi. The room echoes with sound, he can hear his own footsteps perfectly clearly and assumes Mihashi will too. But when Abe draws close enough that he can reach out and touch against the other boy’s shoulder Mihashi jumps like he’s been shocked, jerks and twists around to stare at Abe with eyes blank of recognition for a moment.

“Woah.” Abe pulls back, holds his hands palm-up in reflexive signal of his intentions. “It’s just me.”

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi says, and his voice is so soft with affection that Abe doesn’t even bother to correct him.

“What are you doing?” Abe asks without looking down at the shirt in Mihashi’s hands. The other boy looks even more fragile than usual in the dark; the dip at his collarbone is pooling with shadow, his eyes are huge and look black instead of gold, his parted lips look like he’s trembling with adrenaline or exhaustion or both, and it takes all of Abe’s self-control to keep where he is, keep his hands from dipping in against Mihashi’s shoulders and pushing him steady against the wall so he can stop that shake with his own mouth. That’s not the plan, though, he didn’t stay behind so he could take advantage of the momentary privacy to kiss his boyfriend senseless, so he keeps his hands up and tries to keep his eyes on Mihashi’s face instead of his bare skin, for what little help that offers.

“I -- was --” Mihashi starts. Then he dips his head, blinks too-fast, and Abe is about to start offering suggestions when the other boy holds out his shirt as if it’s the answer in itself. It takes Abe a moment to shift his focus down from the edgy shift of Mihashi’s eyes; then he manages it, stares at the fabric, and for a moment is still just as lost as before.

“Your uniform? I don’t --” Then he blinks, and the habitual disregard focuses in on the number printed clear on the back of the shirt, and he realizes.

“ _Ren_.” He reaches out to snatch the shirt out of Mihashi’s hands, steps forward before he can think about it. Mihashi’s gaze jerks up to Abe’s face, he leans back like Abe’s words are threats. “Are you still surprised by this?” He holds the shirt up to gesture. “I  _told_  you I’d make you an ace, didn’t I?”

“Y-yes,” Mihashi gasps, like the words are being forced out of him.

Abe grabs for Mihashi’s shoulder. His thumb fits in against the other boy’s collarbone, spills shadow until there’s just heat there in its place. “Didn’t you  _believe_  me?”

“Abe-k-kun is--”

“I  _told_  you,” Abe growls. “ _Takaya_ ,” but he doesn’t give Mihashi a chance to correct before he leans in to cover the other boy’s mouth with his own.

Mihashi shudders, trembles under Abe’s touch like the other boy’s mouth is burning him, and Abe’s about to pull away and blurt an apology when fingers brush against his waist, push sideways to press into his back. It’s not much pressure, like Mihashi’s still afraid, even now, of being rejected, but it’s contact, and when Abe parts his lips experimentally Mihashi responds instantly, faster than he ever has before, and there’s the faint vibration of what might be a moan at the back of his throat. Abe groans, the shirt is dropped and forgotten and his hand is up against Mihashi’s neck, dragging over his jawline, pushing up into his hair while the other boy makes unintelligible whimpering noises over Abe’s tongue. There’s a pull at the back of Abe’s shirt, fingers closing into a tentative fist on his clothes and pulling them free of his pants, and the shock that Mihashi is actually taking initiative goes through Abe like electricity.

He pulls back, though his fingers stay where they are in Mihashi’s hair, and he opens his mouth to say  _something_ , encouragement or surprise or just acknowledgment -- and Mihashi takes a breath, blurts “ _Takaya_ ,” and Abe starts to laugh.

“You are ridiculous,” he manages. Mihashi’s fingers are pressing warm just under the edge of his shirt, go still as the other boy tenses with anticipation of rejection. “You are  _ridiculous_ , Ren.” He can feel the panic thrumming in Mihashi’s veins, leans in to press his mouth against the other boy’s neck as the best way to get him to relax. It works, too, Mihashi is going quivery in response even before Abe keeps talking. “You don’t even  _see_ , you don’t  _realize_  how --” but the compliment dies in his throat, self-consciousness taking over from the unfettered expression of affection, and instead of speaking Abe makes an incoherent whine of too much emotion and not enough words. It’s okay, though. Mihashi is right here, tipping his head up towards the other boy in expectation of or desire for a kiss, and this makes sense like Abe can never quite get words to do. There’s no confusion this way, not when he can  _show_  Mihashi how he feels instead of trying to explain it aloud, not when he can feel the other boy shaking and panting in reaction against his mouth and under his hands without having to translate past the stutter and the missed words.

“Takaya,” Mihashi is saying when Abe pulls back to take a breath, to blink at how golden the other boy’s eyes look from this close. “Can -- can we --” His hands push up against Abe’s shirt, higher up the other boy’s back until his meaning is clear. The air is cool against Abe’s skin, it would be chill if he didn’t feel so flushed, and Mihashi must be cold too but the way he’s shaking under Abe’s hands at his shoulders doesn’t feel like discomfort.

Abe opens his mouth to say  _no_ , to say  _we shouldn’t_ , to say  _I should take you home_ , but his hands come in against Mihashi’s neck, and his lips come against the other boy’s half-open mouth, and then Mihashi leans in to press against Abe and makes a chirping noise of pleased surprise at the back of his throat, and Abe knows he’s not going to stop. So he lets Mihashi go, lifts his hands up in implicit permission, and after a hesitation a few seconds too long Mihashi pushes to free Abe from his shirt. He keeps holding onto it, hesitant to drop it aside, until Abe grabs it from him and tosses it into the corner, seizes Mihashi’s wrist to replace the other boy’s hand on his hip, and that breaks whatever spell was holding the other in place. Mihashi tries to step in closer, which just succeeds in banging his knee against Abe’s, but then Abe shifts sideways and their feet fit together, their legs slot together so when he pulls the smaller boy in Mihashi presses in warm against his skin. There’s a touch at his back, contact steadying into commitment instead of tentative fright, and then Abe leans in and Mihashi leans back and their joint balance tips out over their feet.

Abe gets a hand out in time to stop himself from actually landing on top of Mihashi, but the other boy doesn’t catch himself at all, just lands heavily on his back so Abe can hear the rush of breath from his lungs on impact.

“Damn it,” he growls, more worried than angry although the words come out raw with emotion. “Be  _careful_ , Mihashi, are you hurt?”

“No,” Mihashi says, still sounding winded, and Abe hisses and starts to protest when the other boy sits up so fast he nearly slams his forehead into Abe’s. The larger boy jerks back to prevent the collision but Mihashi is reaching for his shoulders, grabbing at him properly instead of with the shy hesitation he usually shows, and when his mouth hits Abe’s any further complaint vanishes. Mihashi’s pushing at him, hard enough to be a demand even if it’s too gentle to be a shove, and Abe obeys the implicit request, turns over so he’s sitting instead of leaning over the other boy. Mihashi follows him, pressing kisses against his face like he doesn’t care if he’s hitting Abe’s mouth or cheek or forehead. Abe can’t think straight, can’t think about where they are or what time it is or anything at all except to turn in to follow Mihashi’s motions in an attempt to catch his mouth in a kiss. His hands are against the other boy’s skin, one pressed flat in the small of his back and the other gripping a skinny shoulder, and Abe doesn’t even realize he’s tugging with half-desperate need until Mihashi pulls away from his mouth, braces himself against Abe’s shoulder so he can shift his legs and come in to straddle the other boy’s lap.

It’s Abe’s turn to panic, then. Mihashi’s so  _close_ , he can feel all of the other boy’s too-light weight settling over his body, and even with their pants still on this is  _far_  more intimate than kissing or touching, this is firing his imagination with heat until his palms go clammy with self-conscious fantasy. And Mihashi’s  _close_ , too close, if he leans forward at  _all_  he’ll feel Abe right through his uniform and then they’ll --

Mihashi shifts forward, rocks in by inches until he’s pressed in skin-close against the other boy. Abe can feel himself blush instantly crimson, opens his mouth to whimper an apology even while the instinctive part of his body betrays him into another rush of want. And Mihashi...Mihashi  _groans_ , a low purr of desire that Abe has never heard from his throat before. His head drops forward, his hands grab at Abe’s shoulders, and when he rocks in again Abe goes red all over again, heat rippling out over his skin as Mihashi’s erection presses in against his own.

“Abe-kun,” Mihashi says into his shoulder. His voice is lower too, humming under Abe’s skin as if he’s setting the other boy’s blood on fire. One of his hands goes tighter and he rocks in harder, he’s  _grinding_  himself against Abe, and Abe opens his mouth and makes an awful sound of desperation, grabs Mihashi’s waist to pull him in closer so he can buck up for more friction. The angle’s all wrong, of course, they’re not even getting direct contact, but the sound of Mihashi’s breathing going frantic because of  _him_ , because Mihashi wants  _him_ , is enough to pour a frisson of shivering response into Abe’s veins until he can’t steady his hands on the other boy’s skin.

When Mihashi lifts his head, Abe’s first thought is that the smaller boy is coming in for a kiss. But then he pushes away, slides himself backwards and out of even the awkward not-quite rhythm Abe was looking for, leaving the larger boy rocking up against no resistance at all for a moment. Abe whimpers in protest and as a sort of half-formed question -- he can’t manage coherency, just at the moment -- and Mihashi hums something that might be words but that Abe doesn’t catch. It sounds like reassurance, though, and the idea that  _Mihashi_  is comforting  _him_  is novel enough that Abe hesitates, is caught on that surprise when the other boy’s fingers slide under the waistband of his pants.

It’s just at his hip, relatively innocuous as far as physical contact goes, but it makes him jump anyway, jerk like he’s trying to pull away before he’s decided if he wants to stop this or not. “ _Mihashi_ ,” he blurts, his voice skipping up octaves into high-pitched panic. “What are you  _doing_?”

Mihashi goes still, wide-eyed and terrified, and Abe realizes he was shouting just before the other boy says, “I -- I -- Abe-kun --”

Abe takes a deep breath, tries to slow the over-excited thud of his heart so he can level off his voice into a more controlled range before he speaks. “It’s fine.” That sound harsher than he intended. He reaches out to touch Mihashi’s cheek, to press his fingers in against feather-soft hair, and that feels too harsh too, fast and hard with desperation, but Mihashi leans into the touch like it’s as gentle as Abe wants it to be. “You startled me.” He pauses while he feels his flush creeping up over his skin in a wave of visible heat. “Are you -- are you sure about this, Ren?”

Mihashi nods so hard his hair flutters in the movement of his head, his eyes wide and locked onto Abe’s like he’s never going to look at anything else ever again. “Y-yes!” It’s loud, loud the way Mihashi sometimes gets during a game when he’s too caught up in the adrenaline to remember to be afraid, and Abe blinks, and swallows,and revises his estimate of which one of them is leading.

“Okay,” he says before he can think better of it, and Mihashi starts to move his hand down and across, twisting his wrist to fit under Abe’s clothes before Abe can think enough to stop him. “ _Wait_ , wait, you’ll hurt yourself, let me --” Getting his pants open should be easy, he does it all the time, but his hands are shaking and his fingers are going chill with self-consciousness so it takes him twice the time it usually does to fumble them open. His cheeks are radiating heat by the time he manages it, all the warmth in his hands climbing to his face instead, and it doesn’t help that Mihashi is still  _staring_  at him, as wide-eyed as if Abe is something perfect, as if Abe has any idea what he’s doing or any experience with this at all. Abe looks away, breathes out hard like it will force away his blush, and by the time he looks back up Mihashi has looked away, looked  _down_ , and this is  _so_  much worse than meeting the other boy’s eyes. Even with his boxers still on Abe feels stripped down to skin with Mihashi looking at him, with Mihashi still on his  _lap_  so his response is perfectly and undeniably visible.

Then the other boy reaches out to press his palm against the thin fabric of Abe’s boxers, and the larger boy can feel the shudder of response ripple through his entire body even before he groans. That doesn’t get Mihashi to look up, though; he’s looking down at Abe like he’s never seen bare skin before, he’s pulling at the edge of Abe’s remaining clothing, and if there was any space in Abe’s head for embarrassment he would die of it. But under the pressure of Mihashi’s hand his instincts take over, demand  _more_  and  _faster_ , wail for skin-to-skin directly so when Mihashi gets Abe’s pants half-off the other boy is more flushed from anticipation than self-consciousness. Then Mihashi’s fingers close around him properly, the contact Abe’s fantasized about more than once even better in reality than he expected, and he has to shut his eyes and whimper a sigh of relief at the feel of those perfect hands on him.

“God,” he blurts, “ _Ren_ , fuck,” and he rocks up into Mihashi’s hold, he can’t even attempt to hold back the instinctive motion. Mihashi makes a sound that would be a laugh in someone else and just sounds like a shocked gasp in him.

“Is this --” he starts, but for once Abe knows what he’s going to say, knows it right down in his blood and bones, and he’s talking over the other boy, words spilling over his tongue with desperate reassurance. “ _Yes_  it’s okay, don’t stop.”

Mihashi nods like he’s taking orders, confirming his understanding of Abe’s signals, and Abe kind of wants to laugh but then the other boy draws his hand up over his length and instead of laughing he makes a strained choking sound that suffices as an inhale. Mihashi wiggles farther down Abe’s legs, changing his angle as he goes, and Abe really should see where the other boy is going with this. In his defense he’s  _very_  distracted, as much by the mental awareness that Mihashi is  _jerking him off_  as by the actual physical sensation; he reclaims his hands as Mihashi pulls away, reaches out behind himself to brace himself so he can stay upright, and he’s staring at the rhythmic motion of the other boy’s fingers over him when Mihashi dips his head down and slides his tongue against Abe’s length.

“ _Mihashi_ ,” Abe blurts, too startled to keep from reverting back to too-recent habit, and Mihashi jerks his head up to stare at him. Abe thought he had something to say, protest or encouragement either, but when the other’s shadow-dark eyes meet his he can’t think of anything to say at all.

Mihashi swallows. Abe can just make out the movement of his throat, looks up to trace the motion of his tongue over his lips. “Is -- is this okay?”

Abe can’t speak. His throat is utterly still, his thoughts have stalled into blankness; it takes him a moment before he can manage to nod, quick and jerky and more reflexive than anything else. But it makes Mihashi smile, blush like Abe’s praised him aloud, and then he brings his head back down and everything that is left in Abe’s head collapses into appreciation of the present.

He’s imagined this before, what it would feel like in general and, once or twice, the specifics of Mihashi’s lips and tongue against him. But it’s more than just the friction he’s used to, there’s heat and wet and a whole cascade of sensation, so much that he can’t tell what Mihashi is doing, exactly, just that he  _is_. He’s not moving at all himself, just staring blankly at the curl of Mihashi’s red-gold hair, but the smaller boy is, he’s doing something with his fingers and moving his head, and then there’s pressure as he closes his mouth and  _sucks_ , and Abe tips his head back and has to stare at the blank ceiling overhead while he tries to remember how to breathe.

He’s just got inhaling down and is working on letting the air go again when Mihashi pulls back, and if the press of his fingers is still turning Abe’s bones to liquid at least that’s a variant of a familiar sensation without the mindblowing novelty of Mihashi’s  _mouth_.

“Is -- is this okay?” Mihashi asks again. Abe can hear the insecurity in the words, the self-conscious worry lacing through the other boy’s voice, and some new-learned instinct takes over in spite of his lack of experience with this.

“You’re doing great,” he manages, as if he has an framey of reference. “It -- I’ll tell you if there’s a problem, okay?”

Mihashi nods vigorously, and Abe just has time to brace himself as the other boy moves before the heat is back, the weird frictionless drag of Mihashi’s mouth over him as the other boy moves. He stays upright this time, keeps his head down so he can watch the motion of Mihashi’s head. This proves to be both an excellent and a terrible idea. Excellent because he can  _see_  Mihashi, here and warm and  _real_  far more than his most vivid fantasies, can meet the other boy’s gaze when he glances up for Abe’s reaction as he moves. It’s a terrible idea because  _watching_  Mihashi’s face while the other boy’s mouth is on him proves to be more of a turn-on in reality than even Abe’s imagination could ever produce, which means that his skin starts to prickle hot with promise well before he is ready for this to be over.

“Ren.” The name comes out frayed and low, but at least he doesn’t sound angry, judging from the way Mihashi slows but doesn’t stop. “I’m -- I’m not --” Abe is flushing hot with embarrassed self-consciousness and pleasure both in quick succession, it’s hard to put the words together and harder to blurt them out but he has to  _tell_  Mihashi. “ _Fuck_. I’m going to come, Ren.”

He blushes instantly hot with embarrassment, but Mihashi is watching his face, and as he speaks the other boy’s eyelashes flutter in what is certainly unintentional and absolutely the most erotic thing Abe has ever seen. Then Mihashi pulls away, though the shadowed heat in his eyes lingers, and Abe reaches out to replace Mihashi’s mouth with his hand rather than reminding the other boy to move his hold again. It’s easier to act than to drag coherency back around him, and Mihashi doesn’t even take the motion as a criticism, just stares at Abe with his lips parted and his eyes enormous and shocked and dark. Abe’s watching the other boy’s face when it hits him, watching the way Mihashi looks like he’s maybe stopped breathing and that there’s nothing in the entire world but Abe right in front of him, and as he comes his whole world narrows down to just the shocked pleasure in Mihashi’s face.

“Jesus,” Abe says as soon as his throat works again. “ _Ren_.”

Mihashi blinks, lets his hold on Abe go like he’s been burned, but his eyes are still huge in the dim light, and when Abe wipes his hand against his pants and reaches for the other boy’s shoulder he whimpers at the contact, leans in to press himself against Abe’s fingers like they’re magnetic. He’s thrumming with tension, Abe can feel it against his skin, and then he can’t get himself over the intervening distance fast enough. His body is heavy with pleasure and languid satisfaction but now his brain has caught up with the possibility to having  _Mihashi_  shuddering under  _him_ , and Abe has never wanted anything more in his life.

Mihashi doesn’t resist at all. Any hesitation would be enough to pull Abe up short, to bring him crashing back to self-awareness, but when Abe reaches for Mihashi’s shoulder the other boy leans back so the larger boy can pin him to the ground, is opening his mouth in anticipation before Abe’s even got his lips against the other boy’s. He’s not helping Abe get his clothes off -- his hands are occupied in fluttering against Abe’s chest and hip in unformed encouragement -- but he’s so hard Abe can feel the shape of him through the fabric of the uniform. When he works the front open and can get his hand down inside Mihashi’s boxers the other boy gasps and arches up so hard Abe’s afraid he’s going to hurt himself, wails “ _Takaya_ ” in a weird broken tone that is so distracting it takes Abe a moment to realize he used his first name.

“I’m here,” he says. It seems like a stupid thing to say, but some of the frantic tension leeches out of Mihashi’s wrists, some of the force fades so he drops back flat to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here with you.” He shifts backwards, sliding across the floor so he can feel that Mihashi’s shaking all the way down through his legs and to his feet before he comes down to lean on an elbow and has other things to think about.

“I’m going to --” he starts, trying to offer some kind of warning or at least comfort to the smaller boy. But his words die off, and Mihashi takes a sharp breath of what sounds like anticipation, and Abe gives up on talking and pulls Mihashi’s clothes aside so he can take the other boy’s length into his mouth.

Mihashi tastes like salt, bitter and sharp on Abe’s tongue, but far more important than the taste is the way the contact makes his hips come up off the ground, the way Abe can  _feel_  his cock jerk in reaction against his tongue. When he comes down farther Mihashi groans, reaches out to dig his fingers into Abe’s hair, and when he starts to move -- slowly and out-of-rhythm, trying to keep his teeth out of the way and keep his balance -- the other boy starts to talk, or at least to make sound. It’s not coherent at all, really, barely words as much as unattached syllables spilling out over the smaller boy’s tongue. There are pieces of Abe’s name in there --  _ta_  and  _ah_  and  _ka_  -- but there are just whimpers too, abbreviated moans or pleas that never make it to coherency. It’s like he’s stuttering his reaction, too caught in the moment to decide what to say, and Abe can’t stop smiling even though it makes his efforts harder.

He feels like he’s barely started, only just found the right angle to really obtain a pattern to his movements and not yet settled into the pace, when Mihashi’s hand in his hair clenches tight in what is probably intended as warning. That makes sense, anyway, but it’s so  _soon_ , Abe’s barely worked out the specifics. He hesitates, looks up for confirmation -- and sees Mihashi’s face, the glazed look in his eyes and the gasp of air over his parted lips, just as the other boy shivers and moans and comes into Abe’s mouth.

It tastes weird more than anything else, bitter and salt like before, and the texture is not particularly pleasant either. But it’s easier to swallow than any of the alternatives, and when Abe pulls away the utter relaxation on Mihashi’s face more than makes up for the lingering bitter at the back of his tongue.

“You must be cold,” he says by way of transition, moving back up Mihashi’s body to lean over him. “If you stay there you’ll get chilled and then you’ll get sick.”

“Ah,” Mihashi says, but even that sounds calm, agreement without his usual instinctive apology.

“Come on,” Abe says, falling back on necessity as the best tool for the situation. “Take a shower and change and I’ll take you home.”

Mihashi blinks at him. There’s a pause, so long Abe starts to wonder if the other boy is even in a position to understand what he’s saying. Then Mihashi smiles at him, the expression lighting up his face in place of the setting sun outside, and Abe’s breath hitches even before the other boy says, “Yes, Takaya,” as easily as if he has always done so.


End file.
